


Smash Your Television

by Mello_McQueen



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-24
Updated: 2009-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-11 07:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mello_McQueen/pseuds/Mello_McQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door was open before Chase realized he wasn’t fully clothed, and  there on the front porch-with a driver in one hand, cane in the other and  the most hideous looking green hat Chase had ever seen sitting atop his  head-was House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smash Your Television

**Author's Note:**

> For Alex. written at: March 24, 2009.

It was the loud raucous banging at his front door that woke Chase, and startled as he was from sleep, the blond haired man barely thought about it as he rolled out of bed and stumbled towards the front door.

It was open before he realized he wasn’t fully clothed, and there on the front porch-with a driver in one hand, cane in the other and the most hideous looking green hat Chase had ever seen, sitting on top his head-was House.

“Want to go golfing?” He asked, with one of those candy smiles, seeming to completely ignore his colleagues state of undress.

Chase, meanwhile, hastily pulled his jacket off the coat hanger by the door and covered himself with it. At the motion, House raised both eyebrows, and looked him up and down. Mercifully, however, he didn’t comment-but really, he didn’t have to, and Chase knew he knew it.

In an effort to control the reddening in his face, Chase turned his head to the side and looked at the clock, resting on the counter in the kitchen. “Golfing, at four thirty in the morning?” he asked incredulously, attempting to discreetly step behind the open door.

House looked back over his right shoulder quickly, then his left and finally turned his eyes on his right wrist, lifting it-watchless-to his face. “Gosh, is that what time it is?” He asked, with feigned disbelief.

Chase suppressed a groan at House’s antics and rolled his eyes upward briefly before reaching up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Fine, let me just-“

"Get your coat?” The amused look on House’s face made Chase want to take that golf club and hit him over the head with it- _hard_. Instead, he settled for slamming the door in his face.

\--

“ _Wow_! You _suck_ at this.” House said, with a throaty laugh. Standing in the empty parking lot, the concrete still damp from the recent rain, chase scowled at his ex-employer.

“It’s dark, you _arse._ I can’t see anything out here.” House scoffed, as Chase set up the ball and they switched places, yet again.

“Can’t you even think of a decent excuse?” He asked, feigning a swing at the ball. “I mean, there’s a street lamp right over there.” Letting go of the club with one hand, he motioned to a point about one hundred feet from where they stood.

Chase glared at the back of his head. “It’s broken.” he stated uselessly, as House took his swing and somehow managed to hit the ball dead on. . . _again._ “ _You_ broke it.” He added as an afterthought just as a loud smashing sound echoed in the distance, and somewhere a car alarm blared into the night.

“ _Hoh!_ Did you see _that_?”

This time Chase did groan. “No, I didn’t see that. I didn’t see anything!” He snapped. House gave him a quelling look and he sighed. He could hear the sound of sirens approaching. “Come on, House. Let’s just get the hell out of here before we get arrested.”

House leaned on the golf club and motioned towards the sound of the alarms. “What about my ball?” he asked, as though the loss of it might mortally wound him.

“Don’t care.” Chase said over his shoulder, already walking away. With a thump, House’s ugly green golfing hat hit him in the back, and he stopped, turning briefly to look at the older man.

“I’m crippled, remember?” House said, moving with an over exaggerated limp. Chase rolled his eyes, but waited until he was three feet away before he started walking again-at a much slower pace.

“Fine. . .” He heard House mutter, petulantly, as he trailed behind him. “It’s Wilson’s golf ball anyway. . .”


End file.
